At My Door
by Disdain.in.the.membrane
Summary: Kenny is at Kyle's door again going off about seeing Hell.


**At My Door**

Love has to be one of the most overrated concepts that has ever been entrusted upon mankind. We overuse the term when we speak to our significant others. People have used it to throw together lies in partial truth. And in storytelling we are forever being shown perfect, happy endings. Even though we ourselves know that the end is far from over. The people in this relationship still have such a long ways to go. The journey has just begun. And sometimes we see that in these stories. Filmmakers and storytellers show us the bad times along with the good. The fights, the breakups. It's not all for nothing. Every piece, no matter how small, manages to grow as one into this concept of enlightenment.

I for one love seeing fights portrayed throughout stories. Especially when it is between people who are extremely close to one another. To show one's weak, ugly side to someone so beautiful in their eyes is such an enthralling thing to witness. I find myself hypnotized by the beauty of it all.

It's a story within itself, all the ugly sides a person can have. All the heartbreak one human can hold before they finally break. There's all the stupid antics somebody can put up with before they finally show their true colors. And for someone who can be seen through so easily, I am amazed by the people who are capable of hiding those feelings. Being able to hold such an ugly feeling away, causing even more heartache. Before that one person is finally able to burst at the seams. How can one person hold so much? Doesn't it hurt?

I wouldn't know how to hold something of that nature inside. I leave everything out for display no matter how ugly it is. All my emotions are read like, dare I say, a book. My face knows not of the ability to keep emotions at bay. And my mind cannot wonder once it has thought of something so horrid, something so idiotic. And I am incapable of doing anything that doesn't pertain to expressing my emotions.

And that makes me mad.

Just as mad as some people's existence can make me. Like the people who hurt my best friend, giving him a reason to be standing at my door as he is now. And it is because I love him so that I let him into my home. As he slowly crosses into the warmth of my home I am left with the feeling of worry. My brow furrows as I investigate the boy standing before me. He looks disheveled with his jacket halfway on, and his blond hair a complete mess. I check him for bruises, cuts even, but find nothing. He usually comes to in a state such as this. Completely clean, but still shaken up. Something hurt him, something has disrupted his sense of balance. He no longer has a sense of being that he can hold onto. And he is left shivering in his wife-beater.

I lead him upstairs, this is routine. Grabbing ahold of his hand and waist, I guide him up the steps and into my room. His hand feels as soft as a newborn's, smooth and clean. Even though he doesn't have the ability to shower and lives in such a freezing town, he shows no sign of dry skin. It is a feat within itself how he is able to hold his body together. Through the years of abuse he has suffered through, his skin has prevailed through it all. And his soft, delicate hands feel magnificent against my own.

Once we are in my room, I sit him on my bed. I let him take his time, just as I always have. He leans against the wall with his eyes closed. His breath is still unsteady and his mind is miles away right now. Before I thought he was high. I still think he is. He seems to be shaking quite a bit. Maybe he ran a long way. Or maybe he is just frightened. Maybe something shook him up enough to be in such a distraught state. I watch as he drags his hands down his face, his breath slowly regaining its normal pace. His fingertips reach the bottom of his lip before he opens his blue eyes. And they are met with my green ones. I should be embarrassed, being caught like this, yet I am stuck staring him down. This silent match we are having with one another goes by for minutes before he finally smiles up at me. It's such a sight to see, all of his unhappiness hidden beneath that dirt eating grin.

"I saw Hell," He says, just as he said a few weeks back. This is also routine. He believes he has seen Heaven one week and then Hell the next. Hell is more believable with the look he has on his face, though.

"You're high, Kenny," I remind him. And maybe he isn't. Maybe he is sober and is telling the truth. Maybe I don't want to believe him. Maybe I'm right. And he has had too much of some illegal substance. It would explain so much.

He bites his lip and looks down. Now this is something that isn't so routine. This is new. Dragging his hands down his face again, he lets out a loud grunt of frustration. Covering his mouth he whispers the horrors he believes he saw. The painful memories he think occurred only moments prior. I ask him how could he see Hell a week after he saw Heaven, but he responds with a simple murmur. Something about how he died on the train tracks today. Something completely idiotic.

And I lose it.

The emotions I am not able to hide, are lost in the air now. I scream at him. Some words I do not mean, some I do. I scream, "How can you be so stupid? Are you drunk? Are you high? Why do you find this acceptable?" Because he is in pain. I am in pain by watching him. Week after week, day after day, he lives a painful life. And I can't do it. I need to show him my ugly side. And he lets me. He doesn't flinch as I spew hateful words from my mouth. He doesn't leave as I scream at him. And he grabs ahold of me when I feel tears streaming down my cheeks.

I break down at the seams while he embraces me. His grip is strong and seems to hold me together. For someone so broken down, for someone who has believed to see Hell, he is so strong. So caring. And I am left broken with my throat feeling strained. Tears rolling down my face with no regret. My emotions are on display for him. But maybe he needs this.

Maybe I need this.

Because even though I am crying, and making such awful noises, there is warmth. And through it all he holds me, and I hold him. And this is our love. Such raw emotion that is displayed to one another. He is in constant pain, but still is able to help someone he cares for. And I wouldn't of invited him into my home if I did not care for him. These are the moments that I find most enthralling. The emotions we share are a story within itself. A story which only we hold. The internal scars we display for each other. Me trying to stay strong while he falls apart, and vice versa. It was beginning to become too much.

Because all we needed was each other. Best friends till the end. Hugging, comforting one another. We are so unsure of what is to come. While the reader reaches the end of our story we are left with a long way to go. And we will go all the way. To the sky and back again. Maybe we will reach Heaven, or we might be unlucky enough to see Hell. Either way I am happy to be a part of a story such as this. My emotions displayed like this.

And I know every time he will be standing at my door I will be faced with the same feeling. This routine we have made will help us through all the bad. Because in the ugliest moments there is beauty. He may be able to hide his emotions to the rest of the world, but I see right through him. Just as the rest of the world sees right through me. And it is beautiful. This magnificent feeling I am able to obtain from him, from this pure feeling, means I'm one step closer to existing. It means I'm alive. All the ugly in the world leads up to one beautiful moment. And I am one that is willing to take the good with the bad.

Just as I said before, love is such an overrated concept. But when you feel it for someone, so deeply, it is surreal. Whether it be for a significant other or a friend. You cherish the time you spend with them. And as I hold Kenny close to me, in all its surreal beauty, I take in the majestic feeling that is now. The emotion that I have felt yesterday. And I can only imagine the pain I might feel tomorrow.

* * *

Thank you for reading At My Door. This has been a thought in my mind. The love between friends. The support and all that jazz. I find that beautiful in a way and didn't know what other way to express it. Anyways, gracias for reading my unedited, completely drunk crap. And if you went through this short rant then you have read through life. Ha. I don't know what I'm saying. Anyways thanks if you liked it. And thanks if you didn't.


End file.
